


World's Best Mum

by BrilliantLady



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, Jealousy, Post-Marauders' Era, Pre-Hogwarts, Pregnancy, Sibling Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 06:36:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8522404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrilliantLady/pseuds/BrilliantLady
Summary: Have you ever wondered if there was a reason Petunia parented Dudley the way she did? She had a very good reason for spoiling him so – Petunia Dursley was determined to do nothing but the best for her son.





	

When Petunia Dursley excitedly phoned her husband at work to tell him that the test was positive, and she was pregnant at last after months of trying, Vernon was over the moon. He brought her home the biggest bouquet of flowers the florist in Little Whinging had available, and a mug with “World’s Best Mum” written on the side in curling pink letters. She was determined to live up to those words.

Petunia devoured baby books like they were sustenance without which her pregnancy would wither, and did everything her obstetrician said like his words were commandments straight from God’s mouth. She took her prenatal vitamins (even though they were so big she almost choked on them), avoided cold meats and soft cheeses, didn’t touch a drop of alcohol, and rubbed cocoa butter lotion onto the skin of her expanding belly even when the bump was too small for anyone but her and Vernon to notice a change in her figure. She talked softly to her unborn child every day, so it would learn to love her before it was even born, and she smiled with joy when Vernon lay in bed at night next to her, singing a lullaby to their baby with his head resting gently against her growing stomach.

Mrs Taylor next door at Number Six warned her that she was looking a bit plump, and that she should watch her figure for Vernon’s sake. She smiled at her and promised she would, holding on to her delightful secret that for now belonged only to her and her husband. Nothing could upset her right now for the world was bright and overflowing with the promise of future happiness. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for her child, and the sacrifice of her taut skin and flat belly was worth attaining the coveted title of “mother”. The Dursleys were going to be a family. Two children, perhaps three. And she would _never_ play favourites like her own mother had done with her and Lily.

She didn’t speak to Lily very often. They had never recovered the closeness they once shared in early childhood, but when her pregnancy reached the end of her first trimester she caught up with Lily to gloat politely at her. She had to be circumspect about it, because Vernon was terrified that the war going on in the wizarding world would spill over to threaten their own family. And frankly, so was she. So she wrote a letter to her sister inviting her to meet up at a café. Lily was delighted to receive a rare overture of friendship and met her as requested.

Over herbal tea and some scones, she shared the good news. “Vernon and I are expecting. A son, due in June.” She rested a hand on top of her swelling belly with pride, and Lily’s response was at first everything she could hope for.

“Oh my goodness Petunia, I’m so excited! You’re going to be a mother! I’m going to be an aunt!” she gushed happily, patting Petunia’s belly. “Hello little one! I’m your Aunty Lily!”

Petunia’s moment of triumph over her childless sister was brief, however.

Lily leaned in close to whisper confidingly, “James and I haven’t told many people yet, but we’re expecting too!”

“Oh,” said Petunia, her smile turned brittle with resentment. This was _her_ achievement. Would Lily beat her at everything? She looked at Lily’s belly for the tell-tale signs. It didn’t look as big as hers did, but then, she was wearing a loose dress with a flower print all over it that hid it well. “When are you due?”

“End of July, maybe the start of August,” she said with a smile, ignoring her sister’s slightly chilly response, “so yours should be older – the first grandchild.”

“Congratulations to you as well, then,” said Petunia. And though her smile was mixed with resentment, Lily said nothing at the lukewarm congratulations.

Petunia cried in her husband’s arms that night about how Lily was stealing the joy of being a mother from her. Lily had magic, she had perfect school results, she had that enormous Potter Manor to live in with her husband. This was _her_ moment. _She_ was going to be the mother.

Vernon stroked her hair and murmured soft reassurances to her, “She will never have what we have – a normal family. You don’t need magic. It’s bringing her nothing but trouble – people dying with that terrorist after them. Not to mention stupid pranks that mock nature’s laws. Unnatural.” He never had forgiven Sirius Black for giving him donkey ears at Lily and James’ wedding.

“If our baby should be a wizard, would you love him more? Than a sibling without magic?” Petunia asked, pleading for the reassurance that had eluded her growing up alongside precious little Lily Evans, apple of their parents’ eyes.

He cupped her face in his large hands, and spoke in a serious voice, “Petunia, my pet. _You_ are the wonder of the Evans family, and your sister is nothing but a _freak of nature_. Your parents were idiots not to appreciate you. And I would love an ordinary, normal child above all things. I don’t want a wizard child ruining our happy life.”

He was her dependable rock to cling to, and never had she appreciated him more than right in that moment.

-000-

Petunia met with her sister again a few times. Not because she had any real desire to lay eyes on her again – she wanted to see her less and less every time they met. Lily somehow glowed more than she did. She’d avoided the puffy ankles and spotty skin that Petunia had previously accepted as the price of pregnancy, and looked instead annoyingly radiant, her hair more lush and vibrantly scarlet than ever, with a smile constantly adorning her perfect face. She got the attention of strangers cooing over her belly and trying to pat it, while Petunia’s brittle smiles and sour looks she wore while out with her sister put strangers off asking the same of her, all unbeknownst to her yet building resentment even further. Petunia hated Lily a little more every time she saw her, but it was necessary. She had to know – she needed answers.

“So tell me,” she asked quietly, “you must be hoping for a little wizard or witch. Are there any tricks to encourage it along? To make it more likely?”

Lily looked at Petunia with unwanted sympathy. “Oh, Tuney, if your baby isn’t talented it will still be alright.”

Petunia pursed her lips. “I’m just asking. Can’t I make conversation now? I thought you _wanted_ me to be interested in your pregnancy.”

Lily sighed. “Well, James says I need to stay at home as much as possible, or in other magical areas. He says it’s better for the baby to avoid Muggle things. He’s been very demanding about it actually. And I have to keep away from cold iron. He doesn’t even know what cold iron _is_ , so he wants me to avoid anything and everything with iron in it. You know, that old wives’ tale about hanging a horseshoe over the cradle to keep away fairies and witches? It’s like that, but in reverse. And he insisted the cradle be made of rowan wood.”

She smiled at Petunia. “You have to indulge men in their little ways sometimes, don’t you? It won’t do any harm and might do some good. Wouldn’t it be sweet if our children went together to Hogwarts?”

 _No. It would not._ “That would be something, wouldn’t it?” she said with a manufactured smile, sipping at her lemongrass tea.

Petunia sold their expensive sweet little wooden cradle with rabbits carved on the headboard that very week, and replaced it with a plain and functional metal crib – steel, to be precise. She hung a horseshoe on the nursery door, and hid another under her pillow.

The next time she saw her sister it would be the last time she would see her alive – though of course she didn’t know it at the time. She sometimes wished later that she’d said something different to her that day, but wasn’t entirely sure what. Something forgiving. Something angry.

With a heavy sigh Lily pushed back the flimsy-looking café chair a good distance to accommodate her enormous belly so it wouldn’t squash into the table, looking worn and stressed. She watched everyone who went past their table carefully with a suspicious eye. Her hand dived into her handbag when the long-haired waiter came to their table, holding onto something hidden in there until after he left with their order.

“There’s a prophecy,” she confided with a whisper to Petunia once they were alone again, “about a child destined to defeat You-Know-Who. It might be my son – Dumbledore thinks so, at least. It could be the Longbottom’s child too – they’re due in July as well. Dumbledore said You-Know-Who is planning to hunt down our child… us too. So we have to go into hiding. I’m sorry, Tuney, but we won’t be able to meet again until this is all over.”

Petunia blanched. “But if my baby is late he could be born in July as well! What if it’s little Dudley!”

Lily laughed at her as if she’d made a joke, then muffled it as she saw her sister’s genuinely scared face. “No, no, don’t worry. They don’t make prophecies about Muggles.”

“But if he’s magical?” Petunia worried.

“Well… there’s another part… the parents have to defy You-Know-Who three times. And you and Vernon haven’t even _seen_ him, let alone thrown spells around in battle. So _your_ baby will be safe,” Lily said. The unaccustomed touch of bitter envy in her voice was a soothing balm to the jealous decade-old wounds on Petunia’s soul. She still hadn’t forgiven her for being their parents’ favourite, and with them both having passed on there was no chance to ever change that no matter what she accomplished in life.

 _Prophecies don’t get made about Muggles_. It was a great consolation to her. Her child would be safe from evil wizards, from madmen who might hunt him down, and from Vernon’s disapproval.

“Yours might not be magical either,” she suggested with suppressed delight at the thought. “He or she could be safe, still. Would James be disappointed?”

Lily groaned with frustration. “Oh, he _says_ the right things. That it doesn’t matter, that he’ll love our child no matter what. But he’s got all these tips from everyone about how to encourage things along that he wants to try. Like you place a toy out of reach of the child deliberately, so that the only way they can reach it is to fetch it down magically. He says the first time he ever performed accidental magic was when his mother wouldn’t give him a second slice of cake, and the whole cake exploded over the whole family when he threw a tantrum over it! Some cake even splattered onto the ceiling!”

Petunia laughed. “What happened then? Did he get a smack?”

“No,” huffed Lily, “they threw a party. There’s a special party for performing your first magic, apparently it’s some kind of tradition. You want to praise and encourage the child every time they do something magical. Some people think it helps you develop into a strong wizard or witch. I don’t see why it would make a difference, myself. Either you’re magical or you’re not.”

The waiter stopped by with their ribbon sandwiches and herbal tea, and they thanked him politely and paused their conversation until he left again.

“So their magic comes when they really want something?”

“Usually when a child is denied something. Anything that prompts strong emotions will do it, really. You know, the pure-bloods have some really old barbaric traditions,” she whispered conspiratorially, “like from the old witch trials. You duck a child underwater, and if it survives, well, you have a witch or wizard. And if not…” She trailed off meaningfully.

Petunia was horrified. “They _kill their own children_?” That was one thing she certainly wouldn’t try.

“I think so. They like to whitewash it now, but a couple of centuries ago some of the more bigoted pure-blood families were really barbaric about getting rid of the Squibs in their families. They say You-Know-Who would like to bring those old ways back again.”

“Barbaric,” muttered Petunia disbelievingly. “And you live with _that_.”

“Oh not _James_. And they don’t do things like that _now_ ,” reassured Lily.

“If he tries, you can always come and stay with us,” cooed Petunia. The vision of her precious perfect sister as a single mother fleeing an abusive husband was a delightful one. She’d be thrown entirely on Petunia’s mercy, with no job prospects in the real world since she had not even a Certificate of Secondary Education, let alone any O-levels. She’d be stuck washing dishes or waiting tables.

Lily’s lips thinned, and you could see in her angry face a rare resemblance to Petunia. “He won’t. But I do appreciate the offer. I know you mean well.”

-000-

When Dudley was born (on time in June, to her relief) Petunia was sent a congratulatory card from Lily and James, and a plush red dragon which she threw in the bin. She would have nothing magical-looking in _her_ house, and neither would Vernon. When her nephew Harry was born a month later, she sent a card and a plush dog. Not because she really cared, but because it was simply the done thing to go through the motions of caring. She wondered if her dog ended up in their bin, but decided she didn’t really care either way.

When Dudley cried, she fed him straight away until his little tummy was round and full. When he fussed, she sang endless lullabies, even though they were a little off-key at times. When he was restless in the night she walked up and down the hallway with a bouncing motion to her stride, patting him on the back over and over as he rested his tiny head sleepily on her shoulder.

She was determined. Nothing would upset him. No moment of danger, or want, or frustration would ever plague him. He would never need to even try to use magic, because he would get everything he needed or wanted. No monsters would hunt him, no prophecies would plague him, and he need never doubt his father loved him.

She would be the world’s best mum, so that her son would be nothing but normal.

**Author's Note:**

> The Certificate of Secondary Education (CSE) was a high school qualification in use in the UK from 1965-88, introduced to cater to those not sitting O-levels.


End file.
